


embrace

by ezlybored



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, No Civilian Kills | Not Even Once, Pining, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Unresolved Tension, arguably - Freeform, i flattened canon out with a rolling pin and used some cookie cutters to get what i wanted, no one can convince me edgar isn't gay for jonathan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-05-21 09:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezlybored/pseuds/ezlybored
Summary: The first time he’d become aware of Dr. Reid, it had been simple: a purely intellectual admiration.(or: what if Edgar was Jonathan's love interest and not Elizabeth? with more fun drama, because i can.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen. i hear your jonathan and geoffrey. but like. theres no way in hell edgar isn't gay for jonathan like, the guy's dialogue, holy shit. we get it!! you have a boner for vampires and also the famed dr. jonathan reid!!

Edgar found that his feelings about and toward Jonathan Reid had become increasingly complex as time went on. By now, it had escalated to the point that considering the man for the briefest of moments sent him into a muddle of thoughts and emotions that, despite his best efforts, he could not puzzle out. 

The first time he’d become aware of Dr. Reid, it had been simple: a purely intellectual admiration. The potentials of blood transfusion fascinated Edgar. He paid sharp attention to any new research on the subject, devouring information and ideas as quickly as he could get his hands on them. Out of all the studies he’d pored over, Dr. Reid’s work had impressed him so much he’d had his entire staff read it, and enthused about the man for a long while. Though Dorothy, being a professional, never complained, it had become evident after some time that Edgar’s showering praise upon Dr. Reid was wearing on her patience. She must have heard the same information paraphrased a hundred times by the time Edgar learned the doctor was hosting a seminar. Of course, Edgar leapt at the opportunity to attend.

It was seeing Dr. Reid in person that added the first complication in Edgar’s feelings towards him. The cause was simple. All Edgar had known of the doctor before attending the seminar was his work, which showcased his intelligence and ability as a doctor. When Dr. Reid stepped onto the podium, Edgar realized quite suddenly that the object of his admiration was a man—a handsome, charismatic man with a dry wit and piercing eyes, a living, breathing _man._

Edgar had been aware for quite some time that he was a... confirmed bachelor, so to speak, but he’d never become so easily infatuated with a man in such a short time. It was, of course, ridiculous, but nonetheless he rushed to try and introduce himself the moment the opportunity arose. Dr. Reid greeted him warmly enough, responding humbly to his compliments, but soon Edgar found himself lost among the crowd of other enthusiastic scientists. He left the seminar certain he’d made no lasting impression, and quickly became irritated at the fact that it mattered so much to him.

This did not dissuade him from attending two more seminars hosted by Dr. Reid; infatuation aside, the doctor’s work was groundbreaking, and Edgar learned a great deal that he could put into practice at Pembroke. To try and dissuade himself from anything other than an intellectual interest, Edgar did not attempt another conversation with Dr. Reid. A part of him, one he refused to acknowledge, wanted desperately to know if Edgar would be recognized; another part worried just as desperately that he would have been forgotten. Edgar, with all his conscious mind, could not understand why he cared so much.

Then came the war, and the flu, and there was much else to think of other than handsome, intelligent doctors. And then came Jonathan, stumbling into Edgar’s room one fateful night—covered in blood and unrecognizable, past a dim sense that Edgar might have seen the strange vampire somewhere before. After Jonathan had left and Edgar had time to wonder about him further, the sense became a suspicion, which solidified the moment he saw Jonathan extract a sample of blood from the corpse of William Bishop with surgical precision.

Edgar could not say exactly what he felt realizing that the doctor he’d so admired had become a vampire. He made light of it, in part hoping to assuage Jonathan’s doubts and fears about the situation, in part to try and alleviate his own. Jonathan referred to his new state as an 'affliction’—Edgar, though wise enough to distrust vampires, did not have as strongly negative a view. He’d seen himself that Jonathan had saved Sean Hampton. Many men succumbed to the thirst for blood and became monsters after being turned, but Jonathan had been—was—a renowned doctor. Edgar couldn’t say how much of his reasoning was entirely logical, but he was sure that the impulse to save lives, to heal and not harm, remained intact.

And of course, there was the matter of his… attraction to Dr. Reid. Though he’d endeavored to bury it, though time had passed and so much had happened, Edgar found himself becoming aware of it once again on that boat ride, and couldn’t help himself as that old enthusiasm bubbled up. There were even more reasons that the feeling was ridiculous, now that it had resurfaced. Still, it persisted. Once Jonathan had changed into clean clothes and his initial shock and confusion had left him, he proved as handsome as ever, his sense of humor was still intact. Edgar couldn’t help but wonder what effect being turned had had on Dr. Reid's charisma. Really, he couldn’t help but think about everything he knew about vampires in the new context of Jonathan. Edgar’s interest in vampires had been perhaps _strong, _already, before meeting Jonathan as one. He had wondered, before, if being 'embraced’—an elegant term for such a horrific act—hurt. He’d been fascinated by the idea of being turned. But it had never passed over into the realm of something other than intellectual.__

__It seemed that when it came to Jonathan that line was inevitably crossed. The less said about Edgar’s dreams, the better. He found himself awakening in a cold sweat, choking with fear, alarmingly frequently—though perhaps worse were the instances he awoke conflicted about the appropriate response to the images his mind had conjured up while sleeping, and continued to conjure once awake._ _

__Edgar’s new proximity to Jonathan both made him more determined to quash his inconvenient emotions and made the task impossible. He was constantly aware of Jonathan’s presence: of the finer details of his face, of his interactions with the patients and staff at Pembroke, of being watched with those piercing eyes. It was impossible that Jonathan hadn’t noticed something, but Edgar hoped madly anyway. Surely most of it could be explained away, and people were eager to turn a blind eye, consciously or subconsciously, to people like Edgar. Of course it was too much to think that Jonathan could reciprocate that awful, confusing infatuation. It was already a stretch to call him a friend, though Edgar did so regardless. Idiocy, nothing less._ _

__And yet. Too often to be waved off as paranoia, Edgar could _feel_ that he was being watched, sending shivers down his spine. He could imagine clearly those eyes, but he could never tell what it was he felt. Jonathan talked to him, openly, honestly. After all, Edgar was one of few people who knew what was now Jonathan’s greatest secret, and perhaps the only one who could be relied upon as a friend. Lady Ashbury, of course, was no less trustworthy than Edgar and had more experience, but she could prove—elusive. Edgar could always be found._ _

__Something was troubling Jonathan. It was both obvious and a mystery as to what it was. Of course it was some aspect of vampirism, but what exactly? Was he troubled by the implications of immortality? Was he remembering the experience of his rising from the dead? Was he struggling with that base urge that defined all vampires, the eternal thirst, the hunger?_ _

__“Why do you trust me?” Jonathan asked one night in Edgar’s office, apropos of nothing._ _

__Edgar did not look up from the research paper he was reading. “Pardon?”_ _

__Jonathan’s agitation began to seep into his voice. He stepped forward as he spoke, leading Edgar to look up in concern. “You gave me a position as a physician, in a _hospital_ full of easy prey—”_ _

__As Jonathan spoke, Edgar rested his elbows on his desk, straightening in his seat before interrupting. “You’ve done nothing but your job, Jonathan. More than that, even.”_ _

__“So far.” Those two words carried—a threat? Certainly something, judging by the way Jonathan glanced briefly to the floor before returning his gaze to Edgar. “But you know what I am,” he all but snarled._ _

__“You’re a doctor, renowned throughout the country for your work.”_ _

__“Others may think that. You know better, Edgar.” Jonathan stepped towards Edgar’s desk once again before placing one hand upon it, leaning forward so he and Edgar were mere inches apart. “I am a _monster._ Until now, I may have behaved myself. Hidden my true nature. But sooner or later—” _ _

__“You’re a good man, Jonathan, but even if you weren’t, I’m no fool. There’s always people around, in a hospital, and I keep track of you and what you’re doing.” Edgar spoke calmly, though he found himself becoming uncomfortably aware of his heartbeat with Jonathan so agitated and so near to him._ _

__Jonathan drew back briefly and chuckled, a joyless sound. “You keep track of me,” he repeated, as if it were a poor joke. The next thing Edgar knew Jonathan’s hands were gripping his collar, drawing him even closer than before, forcing him to stand. He could feel the puff of Jonathan’s breath on his skin, could see clearly the points of his teeth as he bared them in a mockery of a smile. His eyes widened, realizing their proximity. “And what could you do, if I succumbed to temptation? You forget your place, mortal. I can hear your heart. I can see it beat—so fast, like a frightened rabbit. I could tear your throat out with my teeth and be far from this place before anyone would realize.”_ _

__Hesitant, knowing the situation was volatile, hyper aware of their nearness to each other, Edgar brought his hands up and placed them slowly on top of Jonathan’s. “I don’t fear you, Jonathan.” As he spoke it, slow and clear, he knew it was true, despite the hammering of his heart. Jonathan’s grip loosened. “You may doubt yourself,” Edgar continued, when no response seemed forthcoming. “You may struggle. That is the true indication of a good man—I know you would not hurt a soul without good reason. It would kill you.”_ _

__An unidentifiable emotion flashed briefly across Jonathan’s face before his eyes narrowed with determination. “If you really don’t fear me,” he asked, his doubt palpable, “why does your heart race? You can lie to me readily, doctor; your body cannot.”_ _

__Edgar tried desperately not to consider any unintentional implications of Jonathan’s choice of words and failed miserably, suddenly glad Jonathan could only really sense his heart and that there was a desk between them. He could hardly confess his… _feelings_ , not in this situation—not ever, preferably—and he hardly knew how to, so he had to somehow divert Jonathan’s attention. “You’ve given me a turn, Jonathan, I must admit.” As gently as he could, Edgar tried to pry Jonathan’s hands from his collar and met no resistance, bringing them down to the desk. “It’s a morbid matter you’ve decided to make conversation about, tonight, and you sprung it on me suddenly. What brought this on?”_ _

__Jonathan turned his gaze downwards, and Edgar realized abruptly that he hadn’t let go of Jonathan’s hands. He was about to apologize before it also dawned on him that Jonathan was not moving away, only staring. Fortunate, then, that Jonathan wasn’t looking at his face; he was certain he was becoming flushed, not entirely due to his agitation._ _

__Edgar couldn't say how long they remained in that position, couldn't identify the emotions on Jonathan's face or the ones he himself was feeling. He felt certain that if he moved a muscle whatever kept them there would shatter. He felt like an idiot for it, but he didn't want that to happen.__

 _ _Finally, Jonathan said, “It’s not your concern, my apologies for startling you,” and moved away, freeing his hands. Edgar felt his fingers twitch briefly at the resulting absence and gulped nervously._ _

__“As your friend, it is my concern. You’re clearly very distressed. You can’t just brush it off and ignore your emotions, it will only get worse.” Edgar was terribly aware of his own hypocrisy as he spoke. “I won’t force you to speak of anything you don’t wish to, but you must know I am willing to listen.”_ _

__Jonathan seemed to look right through him, seemed to want desperately to say something for what felt like an eternity, a weighty moment that made Edgar hold his breath, kept him from looking away. Jonathan took one small step towards Edgar’s desk and stopped._ _

__A decision was made in that moment, as Jonathan broke his stare and looked to the window. “It will be dawn soon, doctor.” The usage of the title rather than Edgar’s name cemented the rejection. “You ought to sleep." He turned back to face Edgar with a sense of finality. "We will not speak more of this tonight.” The implication, of course, being that they could talk another night, an unspoken promise Edgar knew would not prove true. Jonathan left his office, slipping through the doorway without a sound._ _

__In the resulting silence, Edgar sighed and slumped into his seat, one hand rising to cover his forehead. His heart was still racing, he could feel its beat throughout his entire body. He felt—though he searched for the words, he couldn’t find them. Over and over, he replayed in his mind those few breathless seconds when he was sure Jonathan was on the cusp of true, vulnerable honesty. What would he have said, had he not hesitated at the last moment? Could Edgar have done something to make a change?_ _

__It took him a long time to find sleep, that night, and it was restless. He awoke again and again, different versions of that scene unfolding in his head. They had been so _close_ to each other. A matter of centimeters and their faces would have touched. His hands had been on Jonathan’s for… how long? _Jonathan hadn’t moved away, once he’d noticed._ If Edgar had moved closer—if the desk had not been between them, if it had been truly, only them—_ _

__Each time he awoke, he was sweating. It was not because of fear._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jonathan: being threatening, clearly in distress  
> edgar: not now boner
> 
> this chapter is a fair amount of summarizing. i am truly sorry, bear with me.
> 
> i feel like the dialogue isn't dramatic and goth enough but i cannot bring myself to truly emulate the game in that respect, oh my god.
> 
> if some stuff seems patchy in terms of canon: my bad! im watching a playthrough thats being released slowly, but i am also aware of like, most major spoilers. probably won't really get into them in this fic ??


	2. Chapter 2

It was clear that when Jonathan had ended their discussion, there were no intentions of resuming it at a later point. Though Edgar wished desperately to know the exact cause of his friend’s distress, he was also certain that any attempt to broach the subject would be shut down. There was nothing to do, then, but continue on as if everything was normal. He already hid a great mess of emotions from Jonathan. One more complication to the mix made hardly any difference. 

Throughout the day, Edgar tried as many measures as he could to distract himself from his thoughts about Jonathan. He attempted to read the newspaper, searching for any developments, positive or negative, in the state of the city. He found himself incapable of focus and abandoned it, still open, on the corner of his desk. Any other task he attempted met much the same fate, powerless in the face of Edgar’s swirling thoughts.

In the midst of his desperation, a thought struck Edgar. Perhaps, if his emotions were the problem, he could only clear his mind of them by focusing in on another, stronger emotion.

Most of the time Edgar tried not to become too anxious about the constant struggle to make ends meet at Pembroke. Allowing himself to get worked up only made it harder to make rational decisions. Now, he found he preferred that gnawing fear to replaying that damned conversation in his head one more time. It was, fortunately, an easy fear to become absorbed in. The all-consuming nature of it, that he usually tried to avoid, was exactly the quality he sought at the moment.

For several hours Edgar was too busy with forms and documents to think of anything else, his mind too occupied with issues of space, sanitation, and funds for any thoughts of Jonathan to sneak in. In his fervor, he managed to get a not insignificant amount of work done. Though the problems at Pembroke appeared endless, he would do everything within his power to address them.

He was starting to relax, sure he could put this behind him, when he realized that he was holding a paper that he’d been reading for the past three minutes, and he hadn’t absorbed any information at all. He frowned to himself and decided to try once again. With all the effort he could manage, he got as far as staring blankly at the header of the document before having to accept defeat. Well. So much for burying himself in work. 

With a sigh, Edgar put down the paper he couldn’t remember a word of. Judging by the pitch black outside the window and the ache in his shoulders from poor posture, he’d been sitting at his desk for far too long. As he stood, making his way to the front of his desk, he racked his brain for anything to do to distract from the thoughts that were already starting to form in his mind. No ideas were forthcoming.

Just as he was about to resign himself to a long night of worrying about Jonathan, he heard a soft knock at the door. At the moment, it sounded more like an answer to his prayers. Perhaps at another time he would have feared that whoever was behind the door was bearing bad news, but in the present moment Edgar found he would’ve been glad to see nearly anyone. He called out “Come in!” with great relief.

To his pleasant surprise, it was Elizabeth who stepped through the doorway. “You’re not busy, I hope?” she asked as she shut the door behind her, walking forward into the room.

Edgar made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no, not at all.” He leaned back against his desk, smiling widely. “You’ve caught me at just the right moment, as it happens.” 

Elizabeth gave a skeptical glance towards the papers on his desk. Before she could make a comment, he hastily added, “I’m long overdue for taking a break from paperwork. What do you need, my dear lady?”

The explanation seemed to satisfy her, as Elizabeth shifted her gaze from the paperwork to Edgar. “As it happens, I’ve some good news to share.” She folded her hands primly in front of her, her voice pleased. “You’ll be glad to hear that my blackmailer is no longer a concern.”

A weight lifted from Edgar that he’d almost forgotten was there. He’d been so focused on his work and on not thinking about Jonathan for the past few hours that the blackmail had entirely vacated his mind. 

“That’s a relief indeed,” he agreed, which was an understatement. “Jonathan dealt with the matter satisfactorily, then?” He’d suspected Jonathan might have been avoiding him, at the same time as he found the belief ridiculous; more likely, Jonathan had simply been busy trying to discover the Lady’s blackmailer. 

“Quite so. He was most discreet; I may have underestimated his capabilities.” 

“Did he tell you who the blackmailer was?” It had to have been someone at the hospital, and while Edgar was unsure what he would do if he knew their exact identity, the idea of any of his staff taking such an action was worrying.

“What matters is that the business is concluded, Edgar; the blackmailer’s identity is irrelevant.” Edgar frowned slightly; Elizabeth must have caught the expression, for she continued, “I admit I was curious myself, but Jonathan declined to say. I don’t know what either of us would have done with the information, in any case.”

“I suppose you are right,” Edgar admitted, then paused as a thought occurred to him. He hadn’t seen Jonathan the past day, and couldn’t say how he was reacting to their conversation, but Elizabeth had talked with him recently. “This may seem strange, but I must ask. Did Jonathan seem,” he struggled to find the right word, “agitated, when you talked with him?”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “He asked me no end of questions about our kind, but I doubt that’s what you’re concerned with. Why do you ask?”

Well, Edgar supposed she was the only other person he could possibly share his concerns with. He sighed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts in a coherent manner before saying anything. “I had a rather... worrying conversation with Jonathan the other night.” After that halting sentence he stopped, unsure of how to continue.

Despite the many times he’d remembered their exchange in the past day, Edgar still had no idea how to describe it. In the silence as Elizabeth waited for him to continue, he could hear his heart beating, speeding up as he mentally relived the incident. Suddenly feeling a nervous energy, he began wringing his hands as he spoke. “I don’t know what caused it, but he was clearly tormented by something. He had an—outburst, and refused to tell me why.” 

Edgar clasped his hands together tightly to stop his fidgeting and concluded, weakly, “I had hoped that you might be able to offer some insight.”

For several seconds, Elizabeth remained silent, clearly considering what to say next with care. Edgar realized with faint surprise that his hands were hurting from how tightly he’d been gripping them and let them fall to his side. He could hear his heartbeat slowing as he breathed, trying not to appear too distressed. His description of what had happened the previous night had left out many details, but he hardly knew where to start. Of course he could hardly include his feelings towards Jonathan. He trusted Elizabeth, she was a close friend, but that was one matter he preferred to keep to himself.

Finally, Elizabeth spoke, bringing Edgar out of his thoughts. “It would be too obvious, I think, to say that we both know very well what the cause of his distress is.” Her words were blunt, but Edgar could tell she meant them with no malice. She adopted a thoughtful expression, then shook her head. “Perhaps one could interpret his curiosity about Ekons as a... byproduct of agitation, but I can’t read minds. I would never have known that he was upset if you hadn’t told me.” 

Her next sentence was delivered with an inarguable finality. “I’m afraid that if you want to know what it is that plagues our Jonathan, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Damn it all to hell, Edgar thought to himself. Out loud, he muttered bitterly, “That’s exactly what I was afraid of.” 

Perhaps the way he said it was concerning; Elizabeth looked at him oddly, as if she was searching for something, but said nothing. For a moment it was reminiscent of the piercing stare Jonathan had given him the night before. Finding himself suddenly unnerved, Edgar quickly shifted to a different subject, making an effort to smile and sound cheerful. “Well, that aside. At the very least it’s a relief to know Pembroke has one less issue to worry about.”

Thankfully, Elizabeth did not try to shift the subject back. “Yes, quite. You already have much to struggle with in these times, I would rather I not be one of your concerns.” She sighed and closed her eyes briefly; when she opened them, her gaze had nothing of the quality that had made Edgar so uneasy. “I must be going now. Do send word if you need my help.”

“Of course,” he assured her. Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgment and quickly left the room. Once the door had closed behind her, Edgar dropped his smile and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. 

Was it possible being a vampire gave someone the ability to give disquieting stares, and have vexing conversations? Though calling the conversation he had just had with Elizabeth ‘vexing’ was unfair; it was simply the subject he’d chosen to bring up. Jonathan.

Now there truly was nothing to keep Edgar from returning to his thoughts about Jonathan, a prospect he faced with resignation. Elizabeth’s suggestion that he talk to Jonathan was, of course, entirely reasonable. She was never anything but. Jonathan had clearly wanted to say something, and decided only at the last moment not to; perhaps, if Edgar gave him a push, it would be enough. 

But perhaps it would not be enough, and he would be shut out again. It was a terrible thing to admit, even to himself, but Edgar wanted to do anything he could to avoid that. Perhaps Jonathan would become even more reticent; perhaps he would take offense, and that hesitant friendship between them would be dashed to pieces.

Before he knew what he was doing, Edgar found himself pacing in front of his desk, struggling to make a decision. It was entirely probable that he would spend the rest of the night debating himself about it. Though he felt like a coward for it, he couldn’t help but feel that option was more attractive than sparing himself a great deal of suffering and just making up his damn mind.

Then, for some strange reason, Edgar halted in front of his desk. The newspaper he had abandoned many hours ago still lay on the corner, open to a page he now realized contained the obituaries. It was an area he avoided, most of the time, but something had caught his eye—

Mary Reid.

Edgar snatched up the paper and read the small article once, then again, a realization dawning on him along with a sense of dread. Jonathan’s sister.

The decision he had thought impossible was made, now. Edgar doubted that Jonathan had read the paper, and of course he would not have made contact with his mother. Combined with his already strong desire to talk to him, this urgent news spurred him into action. 

Without regard for where it fell, Edgar dropped the newspaper and strode purposefully out of his office.

Jonathan was likely in his own office, resting after having concluded his investigations into the Lady’s blackmailer. Edgar could, of course, have simply asked someone if they’d seen Jonathan to be certain, but he felt that if he stopped for any reason he would lose his nerve and avoid confrontation.

He all but ran until he came to the door of Jonathan’s office, at which point he came to a halt. Anxiety was starting to creep in around the edges of his determination. Before it could grab a hold on him he forced himself to step forward and knock.

Silence followed, only a few seconds but enough to feel like hell. Then came the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching, and the door swung open.

Jonathan seemed surprised, but not necessarily displeased, to see him. That was a good sign. “Ah—Edgar.” He hesitated slightly before using his name. “I was meaning to speak to you, actually. I think I’ve discovered something you’ll find interesting.” The way he averted his eyes seemed to indicate that Edgar’s belief Jonathan was avoiding him might not have been so unfounded, after all. 

Speaking, Edgar found, took a great deal more willpower than the already difficult task that knocking on Jonathan’s door had been. He swallowed and struggled through his words. “I’ll be glad to hear it, but I have something important to tell you first, Jonathan. May I come in?”

Jonathan nodded, frowning, and stepped aside to let him past, shutting the door after he entered. Edgar’s face must have shown his unease, because Jonathan’s frown deepened, his eyes becoming troubled.

It was far, far too late to back out now. With that realization, the rest of Edgar’s hesitance faded away. He looked Jonathan in the eyes and said, “It’s your sister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> currently hoping for roughly weekly updates (though don't hold me to that, especially since i'm going to be busy near the end of this month). so have fun chewing on this until i post the next chapter sometime next week :)
> 
> oh, elizabeth. i do love you, but dontnod _really_ did not try with that romance. i wish we saw her and edgar interacting on screen more because they're supposed to be friends and because i had to debate with myself for an absurd amount of time about whether they'd call each other by first name. like, they would, yeah? they're friends!
> 
> also how long was edgar sitting on the news about mary's funeral? that's pressing news, my dude. it makes sense in Video Game Terms but in fanfiction, npcs can come to _you_ to further the plot and not the other way around.
> 
> i originally intended to respond to every comment but i'm afraid i'd just end up repeating myself too much. thanks to everyone who commented! i didn't expect to get such an incredibly positive response and it's been amazing, you all are absolutely lovely! if i didn't reply to you: i read your comment, probably multiple times, and i love you, and i thank you eternally. ❤️❤️


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will hopefully be up next week, but i'm busy from june 28th to july 2nd, so we'll see. it's honestly something i'm looking forward to but it eats up a lot of time and i also have to wake up at normal human times, which messes with my standard writing process of 'do everything on my phone at 3 am'

“My sister?” Jonathan’s reaction was not dramatic, but there was an urgency to his voice, a tension in his shoulders, that made his apprehension clear.

“She’s to be buried this evening at Whitechapel cemetery.” Somehow, when Edgar spoke, his voice did not waver. A minor miracle, that. “Your mother published the obituary this morning.”

“...I see.” Whatever was going through Jonathan’s mind, he was going to great effort to keep it hidden. He remained tense, avoiding eye contact, but his voice was deliberately controlled, his response curt. 

Edgar started to reach out to him, then stopped himself halfway, reconsidering. “I am sorry, Jonathan,” he said instead, allowing his hand to fall to his side, fully aware they were weak words of comfort. “Please, accept my condolences.”

Jonathan met his gaze for a brief moment, expression carefully blank. Edgar wanted so desperately to reach out to him, as if that might be the final push to open the floodgates and encourage Jonathan to speak honestly. Instead, Jonathan abruptly turned and made his way to the desk in the corner, Edgar trailing a few steps behind him. Once he reached it, he leaned over it and placed his hands on its surface.

“I must still share my findings with you.” By the way he spoke alone, it would have been easy to think him calm, but the fact that Edgar could no longer see his face was likely intentional.

Of course Jonathan’s findings were important, but it was an obvious bid to change the subject away from an uncomfortable topic. “We can discuss them later,” Edgar insisted. “You’ll miss the service if you don’t leave soon.”

On the desk, Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists. “The epidemic has taken so many lives, and threatens many more. That takes precedence over my personal matters.” His voice rose with the beginnings of frustration. “We do not have the luxury of time—”

“Please don’t try to lie to me, Jonathan.” Edgar spoke softly, but Jonathan froze as if he had yelled; something about his demeanor was suddenly reminiscent of a cornered animal, though the analogy was laughable. “It’s your _sister’s funeral_. Avoiding it won’t help you with anything, certainly not looking for a cure, unless your end goal is to drive yourself mad.” Once the words left his mouth he immediately wondered if he ought to have put it more delicately. Concern had started to become tinged with irritation as Jonathan rebuffed every attempt to offer aid, and Edgar hadn’t thought through what he was saying. 

Apart from his freezing briefly, though, Jonathan gave no clear negative response. As he realized no further reprimands were forthcoming, some of his tension relaxed. “If you are so insistent, then, I…” He sighed and shook his head, abandoning that train of thought. “You’re right.” 

He straightened and turned slightly, much of his face remaining obscured so Edgar could not place his expression. “I should go.” 

“We will speak afterwards, of course,” Edgar said. Jonathan walked past him with quick steps, so he had to once again follow behind him to stay within a reasonable distance to maintain conversation.

“Yes,” Jonathan agreed distractedly, still walking towards the door, “what I've discovered is very—”

Edgar interrupted him before he could leave. “About your findings, yes, but in addition to that.” And there was the cornered animal again; Jonathan stilled, pupils dilated and body tense, watching Edgar apprehensively. “The other night—”

“I do apologize for my outburst,” Jonathan said hurriedly. “I can’t recall if I did at the time.” He took another hesitant step toward the door.

“There was no harm done, not to me. It’s you I’m concerned about.” If Edgar said the wrong thing, he was certain Jonathan would flee. If he waited too long, the same would likely happen. He floundered for a precious second thinking of what he ought to say next. “I said I wouldn’t force you to say anything when you didn’t want to, and I won’t. But I… beg of you, honestly, to let me help you. Tell me what’s wrong. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Jonathan turned away, and Edgar momentarily thought he would leave without replying. The door, however, stayed closed. “You won’t give up on this, will you?” he asked wryly.

The question was obviously rhetorical, but Edgar responded regardless. “No.”

“Then I shall speak with you later tonight.” This was not an empty promise, Edgar knew. The door opened, and Jonathan slipped out without a sound.

He lingered in Jonathan’s office, simply standing there and pondering. The constant anxiety over the man that Edgar had become accustomed to over the past day dissipated somewhat, but it left in its wake a feeling more like emptiness than relief. At least this conversation had been calmer than the one the previous night, though the news about Mary… Jonathan was struggling enough already. Edgar couldn’t imagine what he must be going through.

It occurred to Edgar that he’d likely been expected to leave Jonathan’s office shortly after the man himself. At the same time, though the thought was ridiculous, some part of him enjoyed being in Jonathan’s space; it felt oddly intimate. Without his conscious decision, Edgar found himself wandering about aimlessly. Of course, little time had passed since he had started inhabiting it, so the room was relatively free of personal effects. Edgar did note, however, that Jonathan appeared to have watered a small potted plant that looked on the verge of death. The observation brought a small, surprised smile to his face and a rush of fondness that was far greater than warranted. 

Edgar’s smile faltered as the significance of that settled in. Damn it. 

Now that some of his concern had abated, it was back to this already. Edgar couldn’t say he preferred the constant anxiety, but _this_ was still a major inconvenience. His intentions were purely to offer help and comfort as a friend, but it was possible, now that he thought about it, that he was not entirely suited to the task. Jonathan needed someone to rely on and trust. He most definitely did not need someone who was trying very unsuccessfully to stop being attracted to him. 

Edgar had come full circle, it seemed. His relief led to the revival of these inconvenient feelings, which led to new anxiety that he couldn’t find relief from. Damn it all to _hell._

This was the definitive indication that he needed to leave Jonathan’s office at once. He tried his best to banish the plant and associated fondness from his mind as he made his way to the door. In its place, a new thought arrived once he set his hand on the doorknob.

Instead of going back to his own office once he opened the door, Edgar turned and descended the staircase, leaving the hospital. Or, well—he’d intended to go to the cemetery directly, but found himself distracted checking in with a few members of the staff who he happened across once he’d left the building. 

There was not much to be said, really; with the epidemic, deaths had become more unfortunate common occurrences than real news, and everyone at the Pembroke had long been accustomed to shortages of supplies. Edgar had heard the same thinly veiled complaints about conditions a hundred times over, though more often than not they were tempered with an understanding of the situation. Still, it was never a bad idea to ask how things fared on the front, so to speak. 

After that, Edgar actually did make his way to the cemetery as quickly as he could. Along the way he passed by a few Priwen patrols who barely took notice of him, distracted with talking about a vampire who had apparently evaded them. That was a sure sign that Jonathan had been there not too long before him, in a hurry judging by the men’s comments. 

The onset of rain slowed Edgar’s pace as he approached the cemetery. He might have predicted the weather if he’d paid more attention, but he’d been preoccupied as he left Pembroke. A little water wouldn’t hurt him, though the gloomy weather certainly intensified the melancholy atmosphere of the place. 

From a bit of a distance, he could make out three figures standing around a grave and drew the obvious conclusion. After they drifted away, Jonathan appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Edgar started momentarily, though he was familiar with that particular vampire characteristic. He hadn’t thought about it, but it made sense Jonathan would be unwilling to see his mother in his new state. He had lost his entire family, not just his sister.

Jonathan fell to his knees, grief fully exposed as he thought there was no one to witness it; watching him felt suddenly intrusive, a tightening in Edgar’s stomach. He approached with care, though Jonathan was far too preoccupied to pay him any attention.

Earlier, the common platitudes Edgar had said were weak comfort and he knew it full well. Witnessing Jonathan’s despair, unconcealed, something more was clearly needed. Thinking of what that _was_ was a struggle.

“Jonathan,” Edgar began. Jonathan, surprised, turned and stood to face him. “It may seem impossible now, but you must learn to accept this.”

“Edgar.” Jonathan acknowledged him, then seemed temporarily at a loss for words, clearly thrown off by his arrival. “What brings you here?”

“I thought you should not suffer alone.” Edgar hoped his intentional repetition of the words he’d used in their earlier conversation was understood. “I wanted to offer what comfort I could.”

Jonathan looked at him searchingly, conflicted, but soon came to a decision. His eyes changed their focus, becoming distant with memory. “She was a good person. Vibrant, full of life.” The evident grief in his words as he spoke was a new degree of vulnerability that felt like a bitter victory to Edgar. “She was kindness incarnate, my Mary.”

“She must have loved you dearly.” Edgar found he was glad Jonathan had not maintained eye contact, for he was unable to look anywhere but at the ground. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want to see you in such misery.”

“Her love for me was what killed her. I sent letters telling her to expect my return.” There was anger in his voice, self-blame. “When I did not arrive, she took it upon herself to scour the most dangerous parts of London, to find me or my body.” He paused before saying, voice choked, “I found her.”

The horrific implication of that sentence dawned on Edgar slowly, and he stared at Jonathan, wide-eyed. “Jonathan, you can’t…”

He continued, undeterred, distress only rising. “I still hear her last thoughts. They echo in my head.” His eyes, full of anguish, met Edgar’s. “Her mind shattered and… and it _haunts_ me.”

What could he say to reassure a man that had killed his own sister? Even if Jonathan could not logically be held responsible, fully consumed by the thirst for blood following his awakening, the guilt was unimaginable. “You must stop this, Jonathan,” Edgar urged, somehow managing to sound confident though he was still reeling. “It was _not your fault_ —if anything, the blame would fall on your maker, for simply leaving you to fend for yourself.”

Jonathan looked at him as if he were insane. “I killed her, Edgar. How can I simply move on from that?”

“I don’t know,” Edgar said honestly, “but you must, or it will kill you. If you let your grief consume you, you’ll be putting yourself in danger.”

A short quiet followed, Jonathan too contemplative to answer immediately. On some urge, Edgar found himself saying, “There are so many deaths these days, Jonathan. I don’t want you to be one of them.” It felt like a confession, of sorts, leaving him exposed. That was only fair, given Jonathan’s own degree of vulnerability.

He continued on, not wanting to leave that statement lingering for too long. “This place is too open, Jonathan. Others may find you. Saint Mary’s Church isn’t far from here; you may find some solace there.” The rain, which had faded into the background of his mind, suddenly came into Edgar’s awareness again as he realized he was becoming damp to the point of discomfort. “I should return to Pembroke, or I would accompany you there.”

“I’ll take your advice and then meet you there. We must still discuss my findings.” 

“Of course.” Edgar had nearly forgotten, in fact, but that was obviously important business. He turned to leave, then paused. “Good luck, Jonathan.”

“Thank you, Edgar.” With that, Jonathan walked away. Edgar found himself fixed in place, staring after him for a few moments longer before the feeling of damp clothing began to creep into the edges of his awareness again.

During his travel back to Pembroke, Edgar was largely preoccupied with the new information about Mary. It weighed heavy on him, the extent of Jonathan’s distress making far more sense than before; this, then, had to be the cornerstone of Jonathan’s struggle with himself. Attending her funeral must have been salt in the wound, though certainly it would have offered some closure all the same. 

At least now he knew what was at the center of Jonathan’s anguish, though he had to admit he did not know what he could do to help. Their conversation in the cemetery had felt… alright. Edgar didn’t regret what he’d said, not really, which was novel. At the end, Jonathan had thanked him, which indicated he’d done something helpful. But this would be a long process to cope with, not easily solved in one night. 

Maybe he really wasn’t the right person to offer aid. Elizabeth, at least, knew what it was like to be a vampire, had untold years of experience with the condition. Edgar had nothing but an unfortunate infatuation that worked against his goals. 

These thoughts entirely absorbed him, unconscious muscle memory all that ensured he made his way back to Pembroke and his office, where he wound up standing by the window and contemplating. Certainly Elizabeth’s aid with the issue couldn’t hurt, but that damned irrational part of him protested in a way that felt suspiciously like _jealousy_ at the idea of encouraging she and Jonathan interact, which was just ridiculous.

Edgar couldn’t say how much time passed as he turned over ideas in his mind, entirely preoccupied until a knock at the door drew him back into reality. It was really quite late by now, he realized; after this he would have to sleep. “Come in!”

Exactly what he felt seeing Jonathan enter was a muddle: curiosity regarding the information he’d found about the epidemic, concern about his emotional state, the standard cheer Edgar typically felt whenever he saw him. He crossed the room with purpose, coming to a stop a short distance from Edgar. If there was any lingering distress, it was completely hidden. For all intents and purposes, Jonathan seemed calm.

“Now,” Jonathan said, a touch of dry humor in his voice, “may we finally discuss what I’ve found out about the epidemic?”

Edgar gestured for him to speak freely. “I’d be glad to hear any new information you can offer.”

The discoveries Jonathan detailed were fascinating in their potential scientific implications, and though the matter was serious Edgar could not contain his enthusiasm. He’d often wondered about the medical potentials of vampire blood, and here the opportunity appeared ripe for the taking. Jonathan, somewhat hesitantly, admitted his own consideration of the idea, along with his misgivings. Edgar was certain, however, that with their combined efforts success was guaranteed.

With the purely scientific subject of their conversation, everything went smoothly. Neither of them, it seemed, had any desire to resume discussion of heavier topics. A matter for another night, then, which Edgar was more confident he could deal with.

Their discussion had to be cut short as the hour was really quite late and Jonathan made his exit, insisting Edgar get some sleep as well and assuring him that they could talk further at a later time.

Given the circumstances, it seemed strange, but Edgar felt much more confident than he had the previous night. The state of things was… hopeful, though that might be generous. At the very least Edgar felt like he had done something, and not fucked up royally. _Progress_ had been made.

His sleep was easy that night. The day that followed was anything but.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i debated having edgar come to the cemetery instead of elizabeth and eventually decided yeah, why not it's my fic and i'll do what i want.
> 
> technically once jonathan comes back to pembroke after the funeral Shit Goes Down Also McCullum Is There but in the interest of pacing, that's been pushed over to next chapter. it's my fic and i'll do what i want
> 
> ALSO! should've added this earlier but if you want you can find me on tumblr [@mingdotmp3](https://mingdotmp3.tumblr.com). i don't post often because it's ostensibly an art blog and my motivation is spotty, but i'll reply to messages/asks and also like posts. maybe i'll draw some vampyr art sometime, if conditions are right.
> 
> (please discuss with me how i could rewrite the ending of vampyr in this canon divergence (?) i've established. i won't get there anytime soon but i do want to write some post-game stuff eventually.)
> 
> my end notes are super long i should work on that, sorry :V


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took a while! it's only partially to blame on me being busy last week, i just had a bit of a hard time with it for some reason :V (probably because it's mostly plot and then i've got much less of an excuse to project my own dumb, idiot gay feelings, which is the secret to my writing).
> 
> good news is: next chapter there will be much more opportunity for me to project my own dumb, idiot gay feelings, which is the long way of saying Those Boys will interact.
> 
> bad news is: next chapter will also probably take some time because i am, once again, very busy next week. hopefully i'll be able to maintain a more regular schedule after that, though

Nurse Crane’s resignation should have been the first indication that the day was about to go horribly wrong. On any other day, it would have easily been the worst news Edgar received. Dorothy was an exceptional nurse, dedicated and skilled in equal measure, and Pembroke was lucky to have her reliable presence in this period of crisis. The shock her announcement created was difficult to hide, but Edgar rallied himself as best he could and responded calmly.

“Well, I would be lying if I said that we won’t miss having you here at Pembroke,” he began. The poor woman seemed troubled enough already, though, and adding guilt to her conscience would be cruel. “But I’m sure we’ll get by, as we always have. I wish you luck with any future endeavors you pursue, though I’m certain with your skills you won’t need it.”

“Thank you, Dr. Swansea,” she replied, looking no less uneasy, “for being so understanding. I wouldn’t do this if there was any other way.” She certainly sounded apologetic, but there was a pointedness to her words that seemed strange. With the initial surprise of her resignation wearing off, the pieces clicked together in Edgar’s head. So this was how Jonathan had decided to deal with the blackmail.

Once he thought about it, it made sense. Nurse Crane was sharp as a tack and paid careful attention to each patient under her care. The deaths couldn’t have escaped her notice. But there was still something missing between that and the decision to resort to blackmail. Why not come to Edgar first with the information? Perhaps she thought he was in on the operation, which was true, though she could hardly be aware of the full scope of the situation. Even so, it seemed unlike her to extort someone for money. He couldn’t imagine what she’d use it for, especially since she knew Lady Ashbury was the largest source of funds for the hospital. 

Edgar bid Nurse Crane farewell absentmindedly, frowning to himself as she left Pembroke for what would likely be the last time. Regardless of anything else, she’d been an invaluable asset to the hospital. Though Edgar had been earnest in his assurances that Pembroke would get by, he couldn’t help but wish there was another solution that allowed her to stay. He would’ve liked to have asked Jonathan about the situation, but waking him this early in the day would be not only impractical, but _rude_. Besides, if he’d been unwilling to tell Elizabeth the identity of her blackmailer, it was doubtful he’d share anything with Edgar.

It was only a matter of hours until Nurse Crane became the least of Edgar’s worries. 

He was rushed out of his office with the barest of explanations except a dim awareness that something terrible had happened, resulting in anxiety that only heightened as it became clear that the staff and patients were in a state of hysteria. Every attempt to get answers resulted in Edgar simply being hurried elsewhere, accompanied by an ominous statement. Confused, he continued trying to get _some_ kind of explanation as to what, exactly, had happened. Clearly something had gone wrong, if someone could just _tell him_ what it was—

The sight of Harriet Jones’ room filled with blood told him more than enough. 

Shock held him, frozen, for a long moment as Edgar’s mind processed what he was seeing. He’d spent a great deal of time worrying about the fate of Pembroke, his anxiety generating a profusion of potential nightmare scenarios. _This_ was something far worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

As soon as he was able to make himself move again, Edgar demanded as much information as he could get. Every question answered, it seemed, only brought on more horror. Harriet Jones was dead, Sean Hampton was a Skal—he should have noticed, why hadn’t he noticed? Why hadn’t he thought of the possibility, finding the man near dead in the warehouse? Now Pembroke was erupting into chaos as a result of his carelessness, and though his rational mind told him it was unproductive he could not keep from blaming himself. 

Panic was taking over. Patients were falling over themselves in their desperation to leave the hospital, and Edgar couldn’t blame them. What would this do to the hospital, struggling already as it was? Even the bare necessity of medical supplies was short at hand; there was no framework to withstand a catastrophe of this scale. If the Pembroke’s reputation was lost, then all of the efforts made not only by Edgar but the entirety of the staff would have been for naught. 

To say nothing of Sean Hampton running loose through London, a newly hungry Skal who’d already killed once. With Bishop gone, a new monster had come to take his place. The man he and Jonathan thought they’d saved was now the dangerous one, a twist that almost made him want to laugh at the cruel irony. Hampton was, had been a good man, integral to his community. What had happened at Pembroke would have terrible, far-reaching effects and the implications of it all only made everything worse.

By some miracle, Edgar managed to retain some semblance of functionality instead of simply collapsing under the stress as he dearly wanted to. He was needed, to attempt to calm the patients and the staff, to try as he had been trying for quite some time now to keep everything from crashing down upon their heads. Breaking down and becoming a useless mess simply wasn’t an option.

Containing the chaos took several hours of time and all of Edgar’s attention and energy. Deeply tired and plagued by anxiety, it was understandable, if unfortunate, that he nearly forgot the perpetrator of this attack had been a Skal. 

When he heard the knock at his door, Edgar paid it hardly any mind; so many people had been coming into his office to fetch him throughout the day that he’d stopped bothering to sit down at his desk and ask them to come in. Instead of considering that the knock had been unusually loud and assertive, he was occupied steeling himself for more bad news. He was barely conscious as he made his way over and opened the door, drawing upon what little energy he had left to try and appear less tired than he felt.

At the sight of Geoffrey McCullum, sullen as ever, Edgar suddenly felt even more exhausted than before. The hunter was an unwelcome sight even when things were going well. Getting caught off guard by his sudden appearance now very nearly sent Edgar into the nervous breakdown he’d been trying to avoid. His fingers twitched with the urge to just slam the door in his face, but he resisted. “McCullum,” Edgar said flatly, lacking the energy to be polite to him at this time.

If his lack of decorum bothered McCullum, it didn’t show. “Good evening, Dr. Swansea.” It was getting late, wasn’t it? Edgar hadn’t even noticed the sky getting darker. “I heard your hospital was attacked. Thought I’d come by to appraise the situation and offer the Guard’s help.” His words were friendly enough, but the threatening look he was giving Edgar at the same time made his intentions clear.

“Yes, well.” Edgar, with the slowness of an exhausted mind, considered whether it was worth telling him to fuck off. After an internal debate, he reluctantly stepped aside to let McCullum in. “Come in, then. I hope you haven’t been frightening the patients, I’ve been trying to keep them calm the whole day.” McCullum brushed past him, muttering something about how the patients were scared enough already, and Edgar closed the door behind him. He was keenly aware that Jonathan was still asleep in his office down the hall; with any luck, this conversation would be over before he awoke, though with night almost arrived, he didn’t have much time to make that happen. A confrontation between Jonathan and McCullum would be just the volatile situation to finish off this day.

At the very least McCullum hadn’t come with a whole gang of Priwen, which indicated some awareness of the fact that this was a delicate situation. It would be too much to hope that this would discourage his usual bloodthirsty attitude, but Edgar could dream. He elected to cross the room to sit down at his desk; standing while arguing with McCullum would take energy he didn’t have right now. 

For a few moments, he allowed himself to simply breathe and compose himself before speaking. “I suppose you’ve already talked to the staff and had a look around, so I won’t tell you anything you already know.” If not for the focused look McCullum was giving him, Edgar would have continued speaking, but found himself too unnerved.

McCullum scrutinized him much as Edgar imagined a cat would a mouse trapped beneath its paws. “I’ve some questions for you, as a matter of fact.” Edgar gestured for him to continue, despite his growing sense of dread. “How the hell did you let a patient in _your_ hospital turn into a Skal?” Suspicion underlined McCullum’s words, part of his unfortunate tendency to see conspiracy in everything.

Though Edgar had had the same thought, hearing it from McCullum made him defensive. “I didn’t let him turn into a Skal, or whatever it is you intend to imply,” he snapped peevishly. “Mr. Hampton was the victim of a Skal attack before he arrived at Pembroke. I thought he would recover safely, and I was wrong.”

“You spend years compiling knowledge on these monsters, and yet you’re still a clueless idiot.” McCullum was beginning to raise his voice. There went Edgar’s hopes that this wouldn’t devolve into a shouting match. “Especially in your position, you can’t afford this kind of irresponsibility—”

“Tell me something I don’t know, McCullum,” Edgar said quickly, cutting him off. Under normal circumstances wouldn’t have thought interrupting McCullum worth the anger it would incite, but he’d spent too much of the day blaming himself already to sit through this.

Surprisingly, after initially looking shocked at being interrupted, McCullum cast his eyes to the ground and thought for a moment instead of simply yelling louder. After a brief pause, he spoke more calmly, but with no less vitriol. “This is partially my fault, as well.” 

Only an idiot would’ve taken his words at face value. Sure enough, McCullum turned his statement into something entirely different as he continued. “I’ve been complacent. I ought to have started another Great Hunt already, long before this. Then there wouldn’t be Skals roaming the streets or this damned epidemic. I’d have solved two of your problems in one, doctor.”

Edgar almost couldn’t believe that McCullum always leapt to the same conclusion, but he’d known the man too long to truly be surprised. “Is that what you think? That the solution to this is violence?”

“Of course it is,” McCullum scoffed. “You’re just too much of a coward to see it. It’s simple.” His voice lowered somewhat, taking on a more dramatic quality. “They’ve returned! Kill them all!”

“London will succumb if there’s another bloodbath!” Edgar protested immediately. “You’ll bring down the entire city in your mad crusade!”

“What alternative do you propose, then? Stand by and watch as the leeches drain London dry?” 

“The Brotherhood—”

“You don’t speak for the Brotherhood, Dr. Swansea. In fact,” McCullum added with a smirk, “you barely speak to them at all, if I recall correctly.” 

Unable to refute this, Edgar averted his gaze, glancing to the skull on his desk. This argument was one he and McCullum had had many times, even before the epidemic. He should try to cut it short now instead of wasting both of their time and risking Jonathan walking in. With a sigh, he picked up the skull in one hand, looking at it with a wry expression. “I should’ve known better than to try and reason with you, McCullum. Your kind can’t fathom the idea of a peaceful resolution.”

“And you and your Brotherhood will never have the spine to do what’s necessary,” retorted McCullum. “Stop deceiving yourself. You refuse to see what’s happening right in front of you and you endanger not only yourself, but everyone in your hospital as a result. The people here are ignorant and defenseless, and you—”

The unmistakable sound of the door opening attracted both men’s attention. For what was quite possibly the first time, Edgar’s reaction to seeing Jonathan stepping into the doorway was one of anxiety instead of cheer. Of course, today of all days would have to end with _this._

McCullum, of course, responded immediately. “God protect us, you’ve got a leech in the hospital?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't help but feel bad somewhat because mccullum comes off as so much of a dick here. i do like him, but he and edgar don't exactly get along so, what can you do.
> 
> also why the hell is edgar holding the skull when jonathan finds him and mccullum arguing lmao. what are you doing my dude! why are you holding a skull and looking like a gay idiot in the middle of an argument!
> 
> im gonna keep this end note relatively short so, as mentioned previously, you can find me on tumblr [@mingdotmp3](https://mingdotmp3.tumblr.com). thanks everyone who's left a nice comment!! i hope to be back with the next chapter soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long! i know i said it would but i still feel bad about it, especially because a lot of it is just canon restating and part of the reason why is just my own laziness... at the very least my schedule's relatively clearer from here on out, so i'll try to like. remember that i have a fic that i'm writing
> 
> fun fact: roughly half of this chapter was written while listening to bury me at makeout creek by mitski on repeat. the other half was written while listening to the mamma mia soundtrack on repeat

Jonathan, clearly unprepared for the scene he'd stumbled upon, froze in the doorway, eyes wide. In hopes of preventing the worst, Edgar leapt to the defensive. “Yes, _my_ hospital! My mission is to heal, while you go about warring.” 

Violence didn’t seem imminent, as McCullum hadn’t reached for a weapon and Jonathan remained where he was, but there was still plenty of reason to be nervous. McCullum pointed towards Jonathan with a sneer. “You’ve set the table for a snake, and wonder why there’s venom in your food.”

A man like McCullum would never be able to understand that Jonathan was a good man. Trying to defend Jonathan would be pointless, though Edgar wanted to dearly, every part of him bristling at the insult to his friend. At this point, the best option was to get McCullum out of his office as quickly as possible. “I’m growing tired of your song. You’re a woodsman, McCullum, not a doctor.” Edgar punctuated his sentence with a dismissive gesture. “Return to your hunt.”

Though he evidently had much more he wanted to say, McCullum seemed to understand he’d overstayed his welcome. Still, he couldn’t make his exit without a foreboding remark and a glare. “Remember,” he muttered threateningly, “I’ve a good nose for machinations.” He took a small step forward before he turned to walk away. “I can flair the scent at a mile.” 

Edgar watched him go with a mix of relief and trepidation, as each step brought McCullum both farther away from him and closer to Jonathan, who was still occupying the doorway. McCullum wouldn’t simply pass him by. 

Sure enough, shortly before the doorway, McCullum paused and fixed Jonathan with a stare. “You can’t hide from the Guard.” Jonathan met his stare, unflinching, and Edgar’s anxiety peaked. This was exactly the kind of confrontation he’d wanted to avoid.

“Leave him, Jonathan.” When he didn’t respond, Edgar leaned forward, his tone becoming more serious. “This is sacred ground,” he reminded. For all his zeal, even McCullum would respect that. “Neutral territory.”

Finally, McCullum turned away to look back at Edgar, and the tension in the room eased slightly. “And I just had the carpet cleaned,” Edgar added with a slight nervous chuckle. His attempt at humor received no response, but Jonathan stepped aside to let McCullum pass. 

With McCullum’s departure removing his immediate source of anxiety, the magnitude of the situation dawned upon Edgar. In addition to everything that had already happened, McCullum was now aware of Jonathan’s presence at Pembroke, and Edgar had likely done little to dissuade him from the warpath. “By the sacred Stole, this is very bad news,” he found himself muttering, mostly to himself, as he returned the skull to its original position on his desk. “Bad news indeed.”

If Jonathan had any emotional response to what had just occurred, it didn’t show on his face. His expression was carefully blank as he entered the room and walked up to Edgar’s desk. “What happened?”

The information came spilling out all at once, spurred on by nervous energy. “The hospital has been attacked. We have injured patients, at least one dead and several missing. This has spiralled out of control!” Edgar paused momentarily. He’d lived through the day and had a hard time comprehending how horribly wrong everything had gone; Jonathan had been sleeping, and overloading him with it all would only make him confused. “Even the most infirm are asking to be allowed to return home.”

That elicited Jonathan furrowing his brow in concern. “We cannot have the people lose faith in this institution,” he insisted. “This hospital is their only hope.” The way he spoke made it sound as if maintaining the people’s faith in Pembroke was a simple task. If only.

“Of course you’re right, but we cannot afford a public scandal. It would ruin us.” Edgar cut short his worrying before he began to spiral. “We must restore order, and quickly.” As he said it, he couldn’t fathom how it would be possible. Even if Sean Hampton were to be dealt with, the damage already done was irreparable.

“You mentioned a dead patient? Who is he?” Oh, poor Harriet. No one deserved a fate like that.

In a much more subdued tone, Edgar answered, “She, Jonathan. She was Miss Harriet Jones.” The memory of the terrible scene Edgar had stumbled upon came back to him, and he repressed a shudder. “I found her room like a slaughterhouse. Blood everywhere! The duty nurse is taking care of the mess.”

A brief silence followed as Jonathan processed the information, looking troubled. He seemed to come to some kind of decision, straightening slightly as he said, “Very well. I’ll help you.”

Edgar hadn’t even asked Jonathan for his assistance yet, but he supposed it was obvious. “Thank you, Jonathan. I hate to ask so much, but I know this place means something to you. And this concerns you to some degree, as it involves vampires.”

Jonathan’s previously troubled expression became significantly more unsettled. “A _vampire_ attacked the hospital?” he asked, voice urgent with concern.

“A Skal, actually. Sean Hampton, the man we thought we rescued at the docks.” Jonathan’s eyes widened in recognition; Edgar once again cursed his obliviousness towards Hampton’s condition. “It seems he was infected after all.”

“So Hampton became more beast than man?” 

The description was oddly poetic for such a sad occurrence, but apt. “Exactly. And now Guard of Priwen suspects the hospital of vampire activity.” Edgar paused and corrected himself. “Since McCullum saw you, I suppose it’s not just a suspicion any longer. Knowing him, he’s already twisting it into some grand conspiracy.”

McCullum was long gone, but Jonathan briefly glanced over his shoulder nonetheless, as if seeing where the man had been just minutes ago would give him more information. “That man you were arguing with—”

“That was Geoffrey McCullum, leader of Priwen. I’d hoped to have finished my business with him before you woke up, but it’s a bit too late for that now.” Edgar sighed and brought one hand up to rub his temples. “McCullum knowing you’re here isn’t ideal, but he wouldn’t dare to attack you in the hospital. I think.” Hospitals were an acknowledged place of peace and healing, but there was no telling what McCullum would do, if he thought himself justified. It went without saying that outside of the hospital, there was even less assurance. 

Jonathan appeared to take this in stride, his thoughts clearly too occupied by other concerns to worry about his own safety. He gave Edgar a curious look. “He’s unaware of Lady Ashbury’s involvement in Pembroke?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some sense of it, but Lady Ashbury is practiced in staying outside of Priwen’s awareness.” Somewhat belatedly, Edgar realized Jonathan was likely referring to a different kind of involvement. “He has no way of knowing about her ladyship’s… feeding habits.”

“After all, you turn your head,” Jonathan noted wryly. “So McCullum’s suspicions aren’t far off from reality after all.”

Out of all the ways this conversation could have gone, Edgar hadn’t been expecting Jonathan to agree with McCullum in any respect. He fumbled for a response and ended up spluttering, “Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“There are vampires at Pembroke,” Jonathan said flatly. “One of them feeds on the patients.”

Edgar winced. “Yes, that much is true.” Acknowledging that fact was never pleasant, even if Elizabeth only fed sparingly, on those without any hope of survival. “But McCullum is a fanatic. He can’t comprehend 'leeches,’” the term was said in the most scathing tone possible, “as anything other than monsters. He can’t believe you’re a doctor. He thinks you’re a danger to the hospital.”

It was a ridiculous idea and Edgar treated it with all the incredulity it deserved, but evidently it struck something in Jonathan. His voice was low, skeptical, as he asked, “Am I not?”

The first time this subject had been brought up, it had caught Edgar completely off guard. Now, he had a greater idea of the morbid context that caused it to weigh so heavily upon Jonathan—though, admittedly, this knowledge gave him little help in trying to assure his friend. Repeating what he’d already said would have the same lack of effect as before, but Edgar was at a loss as to what new angle would provide the solution. 

For a few moments he found himself simply staring at Jonathan, profoundly helpless. “I can’t answer that for you, Jonathan.”

“No, of course you can’t.” Jonathan sighed, then shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He took a breath, clearly intending to say goodbye and leave, but Edgar spoke again before he could.

“I can say this. I know you’ve been trying your hardest to help at Pembroke, talking to the patients and staff and giving medicine you’ve somehow procured yourself, because we do not have the supplies for it at the moment. You even watered the plant in your office.” Perhaps Edgar said that with a bit too much affection, smiling slightly despite himself; Jonathan gave him an odd look, and he became too flustered to go on.

Sensing what Edgar was getting at, Jonathan was, of course, resistant. “Who’s to say I don’t do all that as some sort of tactic, to make people let down their guard?”

“Well, you’re to say, I suppose.” Edgar gestured towards Jonathan. “Why _do_ you do it?” It was both a simple and a complex question and Edgar watched Jonathan struggle with it, a frown on his face. When no answer seemed forthcoming, Edgar continued. “If you haven’t made the conscious decision to manipulate people, it can hardly be called a tactic.”

Jonathan’s frown deepened. He turned his face slightly away, gaze focused on some point on the wall. “I want you to trust me, Edgar.”

“I do, Jonathan. I,” Edgar tried to find a phrasing that was both honest and innocuous, “hold a great deal of admiration for you.”

“How can you? I still don’t understand, it’s been plaguing me. The reasons you give—” Jonathan cut himself short, frustrated. “You know what I am, you know what I did.” His voice faltered briefly, a clear indication of what he meant by that. “What I’m capable of doing. How am I so different from Sean Hampton?”

The heart of the matter was that Jonathan was unwilling to trust himself, to forgive himself. No matter how many reasons Edgar gave him to support the fact that he was a good person, Mary’s death was too fresh a wound for Jonathan to believe it. At the cemetery, Edgar had told him he needed to move on for his own sake. Jonathan had accepted Mary’s death enough to function, but completely moving on from the loss of his sister was easier said than done. Getting him to trust himself after that was an even more daunting task.

“Do you trust me, Jonathan?”

Jonathan looked at him curiously, not expecting the question. “Of course,” he said, more emphatically than Edgar had expected.

Edgar gave him a wry smile. “Is it too much to ask that you simply trust that I trust you?”

“I… don’t know,” Jonathan said. He was still looking at Edgar curiously, unsure what to expect.

“For your sake as well as mine, I’d like to ask you to try.” Edgar straightened up somewhat in his seat, speaking with as much conviction as he could manage. “I can give all the reasons I want, Jonathan, but ultimately, you have to learn how to trust yourself after all that’s happened. For now, trust me: I believe you aren’t a danger to the hospital. I believe you’re a good man. I know who you are, what you are, what you’ve done, and I believe this wholeheartedly.”

“Perhaps you’re just insane,” Jonathan suggested, but there was no bite in his voice. His confused look had changed to something different, still disbelieving but approaching wonder, perhaps, strangely fond. Edgar wasn’t certain what to make of it.

“You _did_ say you trusted me, didn’t you?” Edgar asked petulantly.

“I did, yes,” Jonathan admitted, that strange look still on his face. “I suppose I’ll have to stick by that.” 

“I’m glad to hear it." Relieved by that small success, Edgar allowed himself to relax and lean back somewhat in his seat. “You and Sean Hampton are miles apart, in more regards than one. Skals and Ekons may be related, but the differences between the two species are vast. Though I must admit I know less about that than I would like, as discussing Skals is something of an impolite topic.”

At the reminder of Sean Hampton, Jonathan’s strange look disappeared and was replaced by a grim determination. “I was the one who brought Mr. Hampton here. I ought to put an end to this.”

Surely Jonathan couldn’t mean to implicate himself as at fault for what had happened; he’d brought Mr. Hampton to Pembroke in Edgar’s boat, for one thing. Edgar wanted to protest, but knew it would likely be useless. “Do be careful, Jonathan. Not only with Mr. Hampton. The Guard is ruthless, and there’s no telling what could happen now that McCullum is aware of you.” After a brief moment of consideration, he added, “I meant what I said, in the cemetery.” _I don’t want you to die,_ which had felt such a vulnerable admission for being a simple statement.

There was that strange look again. It wasn’t unpleasant, but Edgar couldn’t fathom what it meant. “Thank you, Edgar. I’ll return as quickly as I can.” With that, he turned and left the room.

Edgar was confident in Jonathan’s abilities to handle himself, but he felt a twinge of concern regardless. Quickly, he reminded himself that fretting over Jonathan’s wellbeing was entirely unproductive for both of them. There were greater things to fear, even if his mind seemed to have a hard time believing that. Even after Hampton was dealt with, the events of the day would have repercussions for not only Jonathan, but Pembroke, perhaps the entirety of London. 

Just thinking about it was exhausting, reminding Edgar of how tired he was. He needed to sleep desperately. With any luck, the exhaustion would override the anxiety and he wouldn’t have any odd dreams.

Alternatively, the anxiety would override the exhaustion and he’d end up staring into darkness imagining all the possible ways everything could go horribly wrong. Damn it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh boy that's a lot of dialogue! i always feel iffy about using canon dialogue because it feels kind of like cheating. it's harder to describe also, because i have to be like 'no he didn't say that in that tone of voice dumbass.' in vampyr's case so much dialogue changes depending on your actions that i gotta juggle it around to get what i want. the canon dialogue in this scene if jonathan doesnt snack on people in pembroke doesn't make much sense in the context of this fic and i'm dying
> 
> fun fact: between the previous chapter and this one, i got sick for a short while and entertained the idea of a swanreid sickfic because i love tropes. then i realized it would just be: jonathan shows up, insta-diagnoses edgar, hands him medicine, and leaves, and that's way too fucking funny
> 
> as always, my tumblr is [@mingdotmp3](http://mingdotmp3.tumblr.com), though this time i can add i have a [vampyr specific sideblog!](http://gayswansea.tumblr.com) exciting! now i can shitpost! (i say as if i can be expected to be active on tumblr at all regularly)


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